Isn't This a Contract Marriage? Why Are You Sneaking Kisses! - Chapter 25

Shen Silie poured two cups of tea and initiated the conversation: “I used to come here often to work part-time during university. The manager and the staff are very kind, and the food is delicious.”

Shang Jichen nodded, uncharacteristically silent and failing to pick up the conversational thread.

Shen Silie didn’t mind and took a sip of hot tea.

The dishes were served one by one. Zhang Lixiu came in a few times to bring them side dishes before heading back out to work.

The ingredients in the pot were gradually cooked through.

Shen Silie returned with the dipping sauce he had prepared.

Shang Jichen looked at the bubbling tripe in the pot, picked up a piece, and followed Shen Silie’s instructions to blanch it in the clear broth before dipping it in the sauce.

Shen Silie watched him expectantly: “Is it good?”

Shang Jichen’s Adam’s apple bobbed slightly as he praised him sincerely: “It’s delicious.”

His palate followed his mother’s—light and sweet. He didn’t hate spicy food, but he simply couldn’t handle anything too hot. When out for business socialites, it was impossible to choose hot pot if he wanted to maintain a certain image.

At home, the chefs knew he usually ate light meals, so they never prepared this kind of thing.

Due to certain memories of the past, he wasn’t keen on food; one could even say he only cared about maintaining the nutrients his body required.

It might be hard to believe, but his life was very monotonous and devoid of hobbies: work, gym, walking the dog, reading. He saw Uncle Fang once a month, and occasionally, when he couldn’t stand being at home, he would find a place to drink silently.

He had almost no social interactions outside of work. Any he did have were superficial—acquaintances he might exchange a few pleasantries with upon meeting, but hardly friends.

Therefore, today could be considered his first time trying this style of eating, and his first time experiencing the act of waiting for a friend.

Shang Jichen imitated the method Shen Silie had just taught him, placing the tripe into the pot while silently counting the seconds.

The rising steam blurred his vision, but it caused a strange sensation to rise inexplicably in his heart.

How should he describe it?

It was novel, but not entirely.

It was more of a subtle, inexplicable aching that he couldn’t quite define. It wasn’t the bitterness brought by negative emotions; it was just strangely gnawing.

Shang Jichen lowered his eyes and thought for a moment.

Is this what making friends feels like?

It seems… not bad.

As they chatted, the meal neared its end.

After Shen Silie paid the bill, he said goodbye to Zhang Lixiu, promising to visit her next time, and led Shang Jichen out.

As night deepened, they moved away from the bustling shops. A breeze swept past, dispersing the lingering heat from the hot pot restaurant.

After the meal, Shang Jichen called his driver to pick them up. The next stop was to view the scenery by the river, and Shen Silie planned to buy some paints along the way.

The two got into the car one after the other.

The car stopped at the riverbank.

The night air, laden with damp wind, washed over them. Small flickers of light floated on the river’s surface, and the dark neon lights of the opposite bank could be seen from a distance.

Though it was late, there were quite a few people by the river. Many had come to see the view, but since it was deep into the night, they were scattered, and few noticed their surroundings.

Shen Silie took off his mask and leaned against the railing, holding his newly purchased box of paints.

Shang Jichen stood beside him. They were very close; he could smell the pleasant scent of sandalwood on the man, mixed with the smell of beef tallow from the hot pot restaurant they had just left.

Surprisingly, it wasn’t jarring; instead, it gave the man a touch of “earthly” humanity.

The river breeze brushed back the stray hairs on his forehead. Seeing Shang Jichen silent and lost in thought, Shen Silie leisurely started a conversation.

“I used to come here often after my part-time shifts to look at the scenery. This is my favorite place.”

“Before I started my current career, I would come here to sketch. Speaking of which, I met Sister Mingzhu here. She helped sell two of my paintings that were inspired by this place.”

“But I haven’t had much time these past two years. I come less often, and I paint less too.” Shen Silie leaned on the railing, his thoughts drifting back to a few years ago.

Hearing the mention of selling paintings and Fei Mingzhu’s name, Shang Jichen’s eyes flickered. His gaze moved from the river to the paint box in Shen Silie’s hand. “Your paintings were in Fei Mingzhu’s gallery?”

When they chatted before, he had only heard Shen Silie mention taking commissions online.

He wasn’t some kind of perverted control freak. He just wanted to understand his friend simply; the data he had checked consisted only of a general life history and social relations. He hadn’t looked into these specific details.

Shen Silie nodded. “Sister Mingzhu has always been helping me sell them.”

Remembering the anonymous name he saw when he bought the painting, and the way Fei Mingzhu was unwilling to say much when he asked about the artist.

Shang Jichen froze for a moment, then asked: “Is the signature on those paintings an artistic pseudonym or your real name?”

Shen Silie shook his head and said, “My reputation isn’t good, so they are listed directly under the gallery’s name.”

By not involving himself in the “circle” and not exposing his privacy, he avoided 99% of potential trouble.

Shang Jichen’s lips moved slightly. After a long while, he asked: “Can I see the works you’ve painted?”

Seeing that Shang Jichen—who had been quiet almost the entire night—had finally made a request, Shen Silie felt the man must have been in a bad mood from waiting so long. He didn’t hesitate and pulled out his phone to unlock it.

“I only have the ones from the gallery saved on my phone. The other paintings are at home.”

He opened his photo album and handed the phone over.

Shang Jichen slowed his breathing and flipped through the pages, finally stopping before a field of bright gold. He stared blankly at the familiar little cat in the painting.

Shen Silie leaned forward to look curiously. After seeing which painting it was, he spoke slowly: “This one has already been bought.”

“Do you like this painting?”

As Shen Silie asked, he looked up, only to find that Shang Jichen had already moved his gaze away from the phone and was staring straight at him.

Confused, Shen Silie heard a voice in his ear.

“I like it.”

“I like it very much.”

Shang Jichen whispered that last sentence so softly it was almost scattered by the wind. However, in his eyes—obscure and hard to read—there was a different kind of emotion.

The river’s reflection shone in the man’s eyes, but they were brighter than those lights.

Their gazes met. Based on a strange sixth sense since their first meeting, Shen Silie had felt that while Shang Jichen’s eyes were beautiful, they were heavy and dull. Even though the man was always smiling gently and had an incredibly kind personality.

Those eyes usually looked like a pair of precious, yet lifeless gemstone—cold, silent, and calm, meant to be placed in a velvet box.

But at this moment, he suddenly felt that those eyes were different. They were no longer a dead emerald green or a murky dark shade; they held a few more colors of life, like a flowing spring, carrying a searing heat that was breaking through the soil.

Shang Jichen’s gaze swept across every inch of his skin.

The heat made Silie’s heart tremble.

Shen Silie lowered his eyelids, instinctively wanting to hide.

The river breeze suddenly grew stronger, blowing his loose jacket. The hanging hem moved with the wind.

Shang Jichen took a step forward and gently lowered his head, almost burying it in Silie’s neck, yet he maintained a tiny distance without getting closer. He simply reached out to tidy Silie’s jacket for him.

The wind was blocked behind the man’s broad shoulders. A violent heartbeat and an inexplicable word of thanks sounded in Silie’s ear.

“Thank you,” Shang Jichen said hoarsely.

For letting me see it one more time.

Shen Silie was stunned.

It was a gesture similar to an embrace, yet aside from the hand tidying his clothes, there was no contact.

Not a single boundary was crossed.

It was like a form of restrained cruelty, directed only at himself.

An alternative kind of punishment.